Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XXXIII_

  The Archdeacon stood before the fireplace with Dr Marjoribanks and ahost of other gentlemen. Mr Beverley's countenance was covered withclouds and darkness. He stood, not with the careless ease of a manamusing himself, but drawn up to his full height and breadth, aformidably muscular Christian, in a state of repression and restraint,which it was painful, and at the same time pleasing to see. TheBerserker madness was upon him; and yet such are the restraints ofsociety, that a young woman's eye was enough to keep him down--Lucilla'seye, and the presence of a certain number of other frivolous creaturesin white muslin, and of some old women, as he irreverently called them,who were less pleasant, but not more imposing. He was an Archdeacon, anda leading man of his party, whose name alone would have conferredimportance upon any "movement," and whom his bishop himself--not tospeak of the clergy whom he charged in his visitation addresses like aregiment of cavalry--stood a little in awe of. Yet such are thebeneficial restraints of society, that he dared not follow his naturalimpulses, nor even do what he felt to be his duty, for fear of MissMarjoribanks, which was about the highest testimony to the value ofsocial influence that could be given. At the same time, it was butnatural that under such circumstances the Archdeacon should feel acertain savage wrath at the bond that confined him, and be moreindignant than usual at the false and tyrannical conventionalism calledsociety. And it was at this moment, of all times in the world, thatGeneral Travers, like a half-educated brute as (according to MrBeverley's ideas) he was, took the liberty of calling his attention towhat the soldier called "a lot of pretty girls." "And everythingadmirably got up, by Jove!" he added; not having the remotest idea whateffect so simple an observation might produce.

  "Yes, it is admirably got up," said the Archdeacon, with a snarl ofconcealed ferocity. "You never said anything more profoundly true. It isall got up, the women, and the decorations, and the gaiety, and all thisspecious seeming. And these are creatures made in the image of God!"said the Broad-Churchman--"the future wives and mothers of England. Itis enough to make the devils laugh and the angels weep!"

  It may be supposed that everybody was stricken with utter amazement bythis unlooked-for remark. Dr Marjoribanks, for his part, took a pinch ofsnuff, which, as a general rule, he only did at consultations, or in theface of a difficulty; and as for the unlucky soldier who had called itforth, there can be no doubt that a certain terror filled his manlybosom; for he naturally felt as if he must have said somethingextraordinary to call forth such a response.

  "I never was accused before of saying anything profoundly true," theGeneral said, and he grew pale. "I didn't mean it, I'm sure, if that isany justification. Where has Cavendish vanished to, I wonder?" thesoldier added, looking round him, scared and nervous--for it was evidentthat his only policy was to escape from society in which he was thusliable to commit himself without knowing how.

  "Female education is a monstrous mistake," said Mr Beverley--"always hasbeen, and, so far as I can see, always will be. Why should we do ourbest to make our women idiots? They are bad enough by nature. Instead ofcounterbalancing their native frivolity by some real instruction----goodheavens!" The critic paused. It was not that his emotions were too muchfor him; it was because the crowd opened a moment, and afforded him aglimpse of a figure in black silk, with the lace for which MissMarjoribanks had stipulated falling softly over a head which had notquite lost its youthful grace. He gave a glance round him to see if thecoast was clear. Lucilla was out of the way at the other end of theroom, and he was free. He made but one stride through the unconsciousassembly which he had been criticising so severely, and all but knockeddown little Rose Lake, who was not looking at the Archdeacon, though shestood straight in his way. He might have stepped over her head withoutknowing it, so much was he moved. All the gay crowd gave way before himwith a cry and flutter; and Lucilla, for her part, was out of the way!

  But there are moments when to be out of the way is the highest proof ofgenius. Miss Marjoribanks had just had a cup of tea brought her, ofwhich she had great need, and her face was turned in the otherdirection, but yet she was aware that the Archdeacon had passed like aBerserker through those ranks which were not the ranks of his enemies.She felt without seeing it that the "wind of his going" agitated his ownlarge coat tails and heavy locks, and made a perfect hurricane among thewhite muslin. Lucilla's heart beat quicker, and she put down her tea,though she had so much need of it. She could not swallow the cordial atsuch a moment of excitement. But she never once turned her head, norleft off her conversation, nor betrayed the anxiety she felt. Up to thistime she had managed everything herself, which was comparatively easy;but she felt by instinct that now was the moment to make a high effortand leave things alone. And it may be added that nothing but an inherentsense of doing the right thing under the circumstances could haveinspired Miss Marjoribanks to the crowning achievement of keeping out ofthe way.

  When Mr Beverley arrived in front of the two people who were seatedtogether in the recess of the window, he made no assault upon them, ashis manner might have suggested. On the contrary, he placed himself infront of them, with his back to the company, creating thus a mosteffectual moral and physical barrier between the little nook where hisown private vengeance and fate were about to be enacted, and theconventional world which he had just been denouncing. The Archdeaconshut the two culprits off from all succour, and looked down upon them,casting them into profound shade. "I don't know what combination ofcircumstances has produced this meeting," he said, "but the time wasripe for it, and I am glad it has happened," and it was with dry lipsand the calmness of passion that he spoke.

  Mrs Mortimer gave a little cry of terror, but her companion, for hispart, sat quite dumb and immovable. The moment had arrived at last, andperhaps he too was glad it had come. He sat still, expecting to see theearth crumble under his feet, expecting to hear the humble name he hadonce borne proclaimed aloud, and to hear ridicule and shame poured uponthe impostor who had called himself one of the Cavendishes. But it wasno use struggling any longer. He did not even raise his eyes, but satstill, waiting for the thunderbolt to fall.

  But to tell the truth, the Archdeacon, though a torrent of words camerushing to his lips, felt at a difficulty how to begin. "I don'tunderstand how it is that I find you here with the man who has ruinedyour prospects," he said, with a slight incoherence; and then he changedthe direction of his attack. "But it is you with whom I have to do," hesaid; "you, sir, who venture to introduce yourself into societywith--with your victim by your side. Do you not understand thatcompassion is impossible in such a case, and that it is my duty toexpose you? You have told some plausible story here, I suppose, butnothing can stand against the facts. It is my duty to inform DrMarjoribanks that it is a criminal who has stolen into his house and hisconfidence--that it is a conspirator who has ventured to approach hisdaughter--that it is----"

  "A criminal? a conspirator?" said Mr Cavendish, and he looked in hisaccuser's face with an amazement which, notwithstanding his rage, struckthe Archdeacon. If he had called him an impostor, the culprit would havequailed and made no reply. But the exaggeration saved him. After thatfirst look of surprise, he rose to his feet and confronted the avenger,who saw he had made a blunder without knowing what it was. "You must beunder some strange mistake," he said. "What do you accuse me of? I knownothing about crime or conspiracy. Either you are strangely mistaken, oryou have forgotten what the words mean."

  "They are words which I mean to prove," said the Archdeacon; but therecan be no doubt that his certainty was diminished by the surprise withwhich his accusation was received. It checked his first heat, and it waswith a slightly artificial excitement that he went on, trying to workhimself up again to the same point. "You who worked yourself into awretched old man's confidence, and robbed an unoffending woman," said MrBeverley; and then in spite of himself he stopped short; for it waseasier to say such things to a woman, who contradicted without givingmuch reason, than to a man who, with an air of the utmost astonishment,st
ood regarding his accuser in the face.

  "These are very extraordinary accusations," said Mr Cavendish. "Have youever considered whether you had any proof to support them?" He was notangry to speak of, because he had been entirely taken by surprise, andbecause at the same time he was unspeakably relieved, and felt that thereal danger, the danger which he had so much dreaded, was past and over.He recovered all his coolness from the moment he found out that it wasnot a venial imposition practised upon society, but a social crime ofthe ugliest character, of which he was accused. He was innocent, and hecould be tranquil on that score. "As for robbing Mrs Mortimer," he addedwith a little impatience, "she knows, on the contrary, that I havealways been most anxious and ready to befriend her----"

  "To befriend----Her!" cried the Archdeacon, restored to all his firstimpetuosity. He could not swear, because it was against his cloth andhis principles; but he said, "Good heavens!" in a tone which would haveperfectly become a much less mild expletive. "It is better we shouldunderstand each other thoroughly," he said. "I am not in a humour fortrifling. I consider it is _her_ fortune which enables you to make anappearance here. It is _her_ money you are living upon, and which givesyou position, and makes you presume as--as you are doing--upon myforbearance. Do you think it possible that I can pass over all this andlet you keep what is not yours? If you choose to give up everything, andretire from Carlingford, and withdraw all your pretensions----It is notfor my part," said Mr Beverley, with solemnity, taking breath, "to dealharshly with a penitent sinner. It is my duty, as a clergyman, to offeryou at least a place of repentance. After _that_----"

  But he was interrupted once more. Mrs Mortimer made her faint voiceheard in a remonstrance. "Oh, Charles, I always told you--I had no rightto anything!" cried the terrified widow; but that was not what stoppedthe Archdeacon. It was because his adversary laughed that he stoppedshort. No doubt it was the metallic laugh of a man in great agitation,but still Mr Beverley's ear was not fine enough at that moment todiscriminate. He paused as a man naturally pauses at the sound ofridicule, still furious, yet abashed, and half conscious of a ludicrousaspect to his passion--and turned his full face to his antagonist, andstood at bay.

  "It is a modest request, certainly," Mr Cavendish said. "Give up all Ihave and all I am, and perhaps you will forgive me! You must think me afool to make such a proposal; but look here," said the accusedenergetically; "I will tell you the true state of affairs, if for onceyou will listen. I do it, not for my sake, nor for your sake, but forthe sake of--of the women involved," he added hastily; and it was wellfor him that, instead of looking at the shrinking widow beside him as hesaid so, his eye had been caught by the eager eye of his sister, who waswatching from her corner. With that stimulus he went on, calming himselfdown, and somehow subduing and imposing upon the angry man by the mereact of encountering him fairly and openly. "I will tell you what are theactual circumstances, and you can see the will itself if you will takethe trouble," said the defendant, with a nervous moderation andself-restraint, in which there was also a certain thrill of indignation."The old man you speak of might have left his money to a more worthyperson than myself, but he never meant to leave it to his grand-niece;and she knew that. She was neither his companion nor his nurse. Therewas nothing between them but a few drops of blood. For my part, I gavehim----but, to be sure, it would not interest you to know how I spent myyouth. You came upon the scene like--a man in a passion," Mr Cavendishsaid, with an abrupt laugh, which this time was more feeble, and provedthat his composure was giving way, "and misjudged everything, as wasnatural. You are doing the same again, or trying to do it. But you are aclergyman, and when you insult a man----"

  "I am ready to give him satisfaction," said the Broad-Churchman hotly;and then he made a pause, and that sense of ridicule which is latent inevery Englishman's mind, came to the Archdeacon's aid. He began to feelashamed of himself, and at the same time his eye caught his ownreflection in a mirror, and the clerical coat which contrasted sogrotesquely with his offer of "satisfaction." Mr Beverley started alittle, and changed his tone. "This has lasted long enough," he said, inhis abrupt imperious way. "_This_ is not the place nor the time for sucha discussion. We shall meet elsewhere," the Archdeacon added austerely,with a significance which it is impossible to describe. His air and hiswords were full of severe and hostile meaning, and yet he did not knowwhat he meant any more than Mr Cavendish did, who took him at his word,and retired, and made an end of the interview. Whatever the Archdeaconmeant, it was his adversary who was the victor. _He_ went off, threadinghis way through the curious spectators with a sense of relief thatalmost went the length of ecstasy. He might have been walking on hishead for anything he knew. His senses were all lost and swallowed up inthe overwhelming and incredible consciousness of safety. Where were theyto meet elsewhere? With pistols in a corner of Carlingford Common, orperhaps with their fists alone, as Mr Beverley was Broad-Church? When aman has been near ruin and has escaped by a hair-breadth, he may bepermitted to be out of his wits for a few minutes afterwards. And theidea of fighting a duel with a dignitary of the Church so tickled MrCavendish, that he had not the prudence to keep it to himself. "You willstand by me if he calls me out?" he said to General Travers as hepassed; and the air of utter consternation with which the warriorregarded him, drove Mr Cavendish into such agonies of laughter, that hehad to retire to the landing-place and suffocate himself to subdue it.If any man had said to him that he was hysterical, the chances are thatit was he who would have called that man out, or at least knocked himdown. But he had to steal downstairs afterwards and apply to Thomas fora cordial more potent than tea; for naturally, when a man has beenhanging over an abyss for ever so long, it is no great wonder if heloses his head and balance when he suddenly finds himself standing onfirm ground, and feels that he has escaped.

  As for the Archdeacon, when the other was gone, he sat down silently onhis abandoned chair. He was one of the men who take pride in seeing bothsides of a question; and to tell the truth, he was always very candidabout disputed points in theology, and ready to entertain everybody'sobjection; but it was a different thing when the matter was a matter offact. He put down his face into his hands, and tried to think whether itwas possible that what he had just heard might be the true state of thecase. To be sure, the widow who was seated half fainting by his side hadgiven him the same account often enough, but somehow it was moreeffective from the lips of a man who confronted him than from the mildand weeping woman whom he loved better than anything else in the world,but whose opinion on any earthly (or heavenly) subject had not theweight of a straw upon him. He tried to take that view of it; and thenit occurred to him that nothing was more ludicrous and miserable thanthe position of a man who goes to law without adequate reason, orwithout proof to maintain his cause. Such a horrible divergence fromeverything that was just and right might be, as that the well-known andhighly-esteemed Archdeacon Beverley might be held up for the amusementand edification of the country in a _Times_ leader, which was amartyrdom the Archdeacon would have rather liked than otherwise in aworthy cause, but not for a wretched private business connected withmoney. He sighed as he pondered, feeling, as so many have felt, thedifficulties which attend a good man's progress in this life--how thatwhich is just is not always that which is expedient, and how therighteous have to submit to many inconveniences in order that theadversary may have no occasion to blaspheme. In this state of mind a mannaturally softens towards a tender and wistful sympathiser close athand. He sighed once more heavily, and lifted his head, and took intohis own a soft pale hand which was visible near him among the folds ofblack silk.

  "So you too have been brought into it, Helen," the Archdeacon saidpathetically; "I did not expect to see you here."

  "It was Lucilla," said Mrs Mortimer timidly; "it was not any wish ofmine. Oh, Charles! if you would let me speak. If you will but forget allthis, and think no more about it; and I will do my best to make youa----" Here the poor woman stopped short all at once. What she meant tohave said was
, that she would make him a good wife, which nature andtruth and the circumstances all prompted her to say--as the onlypossible solution to the puzzle. But when she had got so far, the poorwidow stopped, blushing and tingling all over, with a sense of shame,more overwhelming than if she had done a wicked action. It was nothingbut pure honesty and affection that prompted her to speak; and yet, ifit had been the vilest sentiment in human nature, she would not havebeen so utterly ashamed. "That was not what I meant to say!" she cried,with sharp and sudden wretchedness; and was not the least ashamed oftelling a downright lie instead.

  But, to tell the truth, the Archdeacon was paying no particularattention. He had never loved any other woman; but he was a littleindifferent as to what innocent nonsense she might please to say. Sothat her confusion and misery, and even the half offer of herself whichoccasioned these feelings, were lost upon him. He kept her hand andcaressed it in the midst of his own thoughts, as if it was a child'shead he was patting. "My poor Helen," he said, coming back to her whenhe found she had stopped speaking, "I don't see why you should notcome, if this sort of thing is any pleasure to you; but afterwards----"he said reflectively. He went to that sort of thing often himself, andrather liked it, and did not think of any afterwards; but perhaps thecase of a weak woman was different, or perhaps it was only that hehappened to be after his downfall in a pathetic and reflective state ofmind.

  "Afterwards?" said Mrs Mortimer. She did not take the word in anyreligious or philosophical, but in its merest matter-of-fact meaning,and she was sadly hurt and wounded to see that he had not even noticedwhat she said, much as she had been ashamed of saying it. She drew awayher hand with a quick movement of despite and mortification, whichfilled Mr Beverley with surprise. "Afterwards I shall go back to mylittle house and my school, and shut myself in, and never, never comeback again, you may be sure," said the widow, with a rush of tears toher eyes. Why they did not fall, or how she kept herself fromfainting--she who fainted so easily--she never, on reviewing thecircumstances, could tell; and Miss Marjoribanks always attributed it tothe fact that _she_ was absent, and there was no eau-de-Cologne on thetable. But whatever the cause might be, Mrs Mortimer did not faint; andperhaps there never was anything so like despair and bitterness as atthat moment in her mild little feminine soul.

  "Never come back again?" said the Archdeacon, rousing up a little; andthen he put out his large hand and took back the other, as if it hadbeen a pencil or a book that he had lost. All this, let it be known, waswell in the shadow, and could not be seen by the world in general toteach the young people a bad lesson. "Why should not you come back? I amgoing away too," said Mr Beverley; and he stopped short, and resistedthe effort his prisoner made to withdraw. Oddly enough at that momenthis Rectory rose suddenly before him as in a vision--his Rectory, allhandsome and sombre, without a soul in it, room after room uninhabited,and not a sound to be heard, except that of his own foot or hisservant's. It was curious what connection there could be between thatand the garden, with its four walls, and the tiny cottage covered withwistaria. Such as it was, it moved the Archdeacon to a singular, and,considering the place and moment, rather indecorous proceeding. Insteadof contenting himself with the resisting hand, he drew the widow's armwithin his as they sat together. "I'll tell you what we must do,Helen," he said confidentially--"we must go back to Basing together, youand I. I don't see the good of leaving you by yourself here. You canmake what alterations you like when you get to the Rectory; and I shalllet that--that person alone, if you wish it, with his ill-gotten gear.He will never come to any good," said the Archdeacon, with somesatisfaction; and then he added in a parenthesis, as if she hadexpressed some ridiculous doubt on the subject, "Of course I mean thatwe should be married before we go away." It was in this rapid andsummary manner that the whole business was settled. Naturally hiscompanion had nothing to say against such a reasonable arrangement. Shehad never contradicted him in her life about anything but one thing; andthat being set aside, there was no possible reason why she should beginnow.